My Sundown
by BulletBlaze
Summary: Stiles isn't coping well after his father's attack. He's irritable and tired and so angry. He's trying to heal, but things just keep getting in the way. Maybe he just needs to get over his own self-isolation and do something about it.
After the shit show that was the previous week, what with his falling-out with Scott, his confrontation with Theo, and his dad at death's door, Stiles really just wanted to go home and get some sleep. And now that his dad was out of the woods, he actually felt that he could. Stiles didn't want to leave, not really, but Melissa assured him that she would keep a hawk-like eye on the sheriff until Stiles returned the next day. Plus, she said he was stinking up the whole floor.

So Stiles reluctantly walked home, because his hunk of metal was not going to be driven for a long time, if ever. The thought brought a wave of sadness over him; he couldn't imagine a life without Roscoe. She had been with the family since his mom was a teenager, and one of Stiles' last reminders of her. He had put off telling his father about it- there were bigger things to worry about, like all of those medical bills they couldn't afford. Stiles didn't bring that up, either, per se, but he was definitely trying to figure out how the hell they were going to pay for all of it. Stiles' dementia test bills already cost an arm and a leg, and they wouldn't be paid off for quite a while. And now, that damn nurse had told him that they couldn't find his dad's insurance? Just more shit on their already mountainous pile of shit.

But Stiles would worry about that later. Now, he was home and his bed was calling sweet lullabies to him, like a siren, and Stiles was its very willing victim. It was only eight, but he figured ten hours of sleep would prepare him for school better than his usual five.

 _Great hypothesis there, Stiles. Truly ingenious. This is why you're the brains of the operation._

He was just thinking about putting said hypothesis to test when he finally entered his house and drank it all in. To say it could use a little tidying up was an understatement of drastic proportions. All thoughts of those coveted ten hours flew right out of his mind.

Stiles had always disliked dust. His mom had been allergic and always made sure to dust and vacuum every few days, and when she was admitted into the hospital, Stiles had taken it upon himself to continue it in her place. Ever since sophomore year when he traded his usual sucky world in for an even suckier one, he had sort of neglected his cleaning practices. He's been busy, okay, he totally had an excuse. But needless to say, his father had definitely not done it when Stiles didn't have time or forgot. Eventually, he just grew out of the habit. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had cleaned up at the house.

Dust and dirt weren't the only things adorning the tables and carpets and every other flat surface in the entire house, unfortunately. Stiles could count at least four stains in the living room carpet that looked suspiciously like blood, a couple that looked like either piss or whiskey (probably whiskey), and one that was black, probably the gross bile of a wolfsbane-infected werewolf. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw that the table was completely covered in maps, files, random note pads, and two bottles of whiskey- one empty and the other halfway there. The sight made Stiles' gut wrench, thinking about how hard his dad worked to help everyone, and how stressed he got over the supernatural dealings he also tried to help in. Stiles hated that he and his father never talked about the effects all of this shit had on them. They both had their own ways of dealing, which would've been a good, had those methods not been completely self-destructive. He took to taking a few more Adderall than he strictly should, and his father took to drinking a few dozen more ounces of whiskey than he strictly should. Well, like father like son.

The laundry room was almost overflowing with dirty clothes, as the sink was with dishes, and as garbage can was with paper plates and bloody gauze. Resigning himself to much less sleep than he would prefer, Stiles digs under the sink and pulls out all the cleaning supplies he can find.

Starting simple, the tired teen empties the trash and then cleans off the tables and counters, organizing everything into neat little piles for his dad to easily rifle through once he returns home, only pausing about a dozen times to read some interesting looking report or note. Then he manages to find a few clean rags and wipes everything down with their citrus-scented, off-brand dusting spray. Once all of the tables, counters, and stands are all shiny and dust free, he decides to just go ahead and clean off the TV screen and picture frames as well, taking extra care on the glass covering his mother's smiling face. Next are the floors, but first Stiles starts a large load of laundry and fills the dishwasher. The broom and mop have even collected dust from disuse, but they get the job done on the kitchen floor all the same.

The carpet takes a significantly larger amount of time and effort. The stains do not want to come out, that's for sure. Stiles manages to get a few of them out, but he figures the rest have been there for so long that the best he can do is fade them a bit. Vacuuming gets out much more dirt than would be normal at any other person's house, and Stiles is fairly certain that at least half of it is mountain ash. When he takes the mat by the front door outside and beats it with his broom, he has to cover his mouth and nose to keep himself from choking on the cloud that erupts from it.

Stiles has to admit, he beat the rug a bit harder than strictly necessary, but hey, it's therapeutic, and no one's there to judge him but himself, so what's it matter?

When he's finished, he's sweaty, hungry, and completely exhausted. Before going to bed, Stiles decided a late night snack would help him fall asleep easier. Too bad the pantry was virtually empty and almost everything in the fridge was past its expiration date.

"Oh, fuck me! Fucking hell, fuck everything, just fucking fuck it all."

So then he cleaned everything out of the refrigerator, including some things in the back that looked like they'd been there for years, muttering curses all the while. By the time he'd finished, the laundry timer had gone off, as well as the dishwasher's. After transferring the clean clothes into the dryer, he put in another load and then went to empty the dishwasher, then refilled it and hand washed the dishes left in the sink. He was on a roll, and he knew that it wouldn't be any time soon that he felt up for cleaning again, so Stiles just went ahead and waited the last few minutes for the dryer timer to go off, and proceeded to fold the newly dried and still-warm clothes, separating them into piles of his and his dad's. His pile was significantly more colorful than his father's, mostly due to the frankly alarming number of plaid shirts and flannels within it, as opposed to the sheriff's dark blue t-shirts and tan sweaters. The towering piles of clothes in Stiles' arms effectively blocked his view of the stairs, and he almost fell no less than three times.

He put all of his clothes in his dresser and closet before taking the remaining to the master bedroom. There's another glass on the nightstand by the bed, undoubtedly his father's go-to sleep aid, and the sheets were in disarray. Stripping them only takes a few seconds, but replacing them with fresh ones proves to be much more difficult. Every time he pulled the fitted sheet over one corner, it popped off of another. Stiles got increasingly frustrated and irrationally angry, yelling his irritation at the plain tan bedspread, his abuse getting increasingly louder and decreasingly coherent. Thankfully, he got it on and then threw the comforter over the top, leaving the pillows on top of it all. The shot glass was taken downstairs and rinsed before finding it's home in a shelf.

Sighing, Stiles relaxed against the counter, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, just for a moment.

He woke up two hours later from a cramp in his neck, and the achiness washed over him, stemming from the awkward way he slumped down to the floor. Rubbing his eyes, Stiles dragged himself to his feet and immediately stumbled into the refrigerator. He waited out the head rush and then swayed up the stairs precariously, just barely remembering to take off his shoes before falling into bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers. He sighed once again and shut his eyes.

Then the alarm on his phone went off.

Stiles moaned loudly. He felt like crying.

Punching his pillow, albeit a bit pathetically, he forced his body to sit back up before he fell asleep again and go take a shower. Just before he was done sleepily dragging his fingers through his hair, rinsing the rest of the soap off his body, he turned the water to the coldest it goes.

The shriek that shot out of his throat was mortifying to say the least, but the shock of ice-cold water did the job of waking him up well enough. He was shivering and almost slipped on the tile floor, but somehow managed to get dressed without collapsing and cracking his head open. It's a small victory, but he'll take it. While in the shower, Stiles had briefly entertained the thought of skipping school altogether, but didn't want to risk his near perfect GPA even more than he had by being out the entire previous week.

Not that it really mattered. It's not like he would be able to afford to go to college, anyway.

But he didn't want to disappoint his dad any more than he had in the past few… well, the past rest of his life. So Stiles put on his big-boy pants, dried his hair, and left his house, backpack slung over his shoulders, digging uncomfortably into the bite mark that just refused to heal. Remembering that he didn't have his jeep, Stiles thanked god that he'd had the forethought to set his alarm almost an hour earlier than usual, to compensate for his slow transportation (his feet). The group of people going to school currently and the group of people who he was on good graces with didn't really overlap at the moment, and Stiles was too stubborn to actually ask any of them, anyway.

As it turned out, Stiles was the only one of the pack even at school that day. Well, technically he wasn't in the pack anymore, Stiles thought with a sort of cold detachment. Whatever, he was the only one there. Except for - lucky him - Theo.

The little shit cornered him in the bathroom.

The fucking _bathroom_.

Stiles saw him in the mirror as he was washing his hands, trying for cool and casual as he leaned against the tile wall, smirking like the little douche he was.

"Hey Stiles, how you been?" Theo greeted him with false friendliness. They both knew he didn't really give a shit.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm his raging emotions, Stiles mentally counted to ten.

"Actually, how's your dad doing?"

Yeah, fuck that.

He had Theo up against the wall in an instant, bracing his forearm snugly against the smug dick's throat. Panting heavily, Stiles got right up in his face, an intensity in his eyes that momentarily had Theo's smirk wavering before it was back in place on his stupid face. He reminded Stiles of Jackson a little, just a lot more evil.

Theo didn't seem particularly concerned about the rage coming off of Stiles in waves, nor the racing of his heart. In fact, he seemed to have been counting on it.

"Gonna hit me again? Go on. I know you need the release; your little spat with me and your car surely weren't enough. No, I know you can do _much_ more damage than that. And you know it, too. So go ahead. _Hit me_. Start a fight, right here, right now. We both know I'd beat you- and the thing is, I'm willing this time. You wanna know why, Stiles? It's cause I don't need you anymore. I have a pack of my own, and now you're just gonna get in the way. So do it! Hit me!"

Stiles was off of him almost immediately. He knew that if he started something with Theo, it would likely end with him either severely injured or expelled. Or, more likely, both. So he backed off and regarded Theo with with blazing eyes.

"You know, your love of movie villain speeches isn't really doing you any favors. And if you weren't such a coward, you would've confronted me somewhere I could actually do something about it. So don't pretend that just because you think you have the upper hand here, you have it anywhere else. You have _no fucking clue_ what I'm capable of." Stiles hissed the words, spitting them out like venom.

Theo barked out a short laugh before saying, "But don't I? I know what you've done, remember? You killed Donovan. Hit him over the head with a wrench before running him through with a pole. And that wasn't your first kill, either. Like I said before, you've got more blood on your hands than anyone else in this whole damn town. More than your little pack, more than the Doctors, more than me. Yet you still have yourself convinced you're a good guy. Guess what, Stiles? Good guys aren't killers. You can't be both, you have to choose. Which one suits you more? And I'm willing to bet we both know the answer to that one."

Stiles stalked forward again, leaving only an inch or two of space between them. "You've just got me all figured out, haven't you? I don't have to defend myself to you, because we both know how that night really went down. Self-defense doesn't make me a murderer. Neither does being possessed. It took me a long time to accept that, but I have. You on the other hand, how can you even live with yourself, knowing you killed your own sister? Took her heart? _You're_ the murderer here, not me. A don't give flying _fuck_ what the Doctors said to you, you killed her. It was all. On. You. See, that's the difference between you and me, Theo; I actually am a good guy. Yeah, I killed someone, but I never went out and murdered anyone. Who knows how many people you've murdered. And all for what? Power? Glory? Survival? It doesn't matter. Because at the end of the day, you're still a scared, misguided little boy who thinks that working with the bad guys makes you invincible. And I'm still the same person I was ten years ago, just trying to help the people I love. Yeah, I screwed up sometimes. I made some mistakes, but that doesn't make me a fucking _killer_ , okay, it makes me _human_ \- something you obviously don't know much about. And that's what separates us. I have people worth fighting for. You only have yourself."

And with that, Stiles stalked out of the bathroom.

It was despairingly obvious that Stiles wasn't paying attention in any of his classes, which earned him a handful of reprimands. It was also quite obvious that he was in a foul mood, which ended up landing him a detention that afternoon. Maybe he'd finally get some sleep.

The only downside was that he'd have to put off visiting his dad, who was sure to notice and then proceed to interrogate him about. Luckily, ever since all of the supernatural drama came to light the last year, his father had been much more understanding of his moods. Sadly, that still meant a serious verbal lashing, just no at-home punishment. It's not like he would be there to enforce it, after all.

As expected, the sheriff was pissed that his son had taken out his frustration on his 'innocent' teachers.

('Innocent' his ass. There were kids talking and falling asleep all around the room who got no penalty; Stiles was just special.)

The lecture he endured wasn't as forceful as the ones he was used to, but made him feel worse- and both for the same reason. While his dad was lying in a hospital bed, Stiles was going around pissing people off. The white gown made him look washed out and older than ever, and his voice sounded like it was coming through a blender. The whole conversation (as one-sided as it was) made Stiles feel immensely guilty and he apologized immediately. The quiet and sincere tone of his voice brought a softer look over the sheriff's face and he raised his arm to beckon the boy closer to him. Once Stiles was in arm's reach, he grabbed his sleeve and dragged him down into a tight hug. The boy melted into the embrace, despite the awkward way his back was arched in order to lean down into it. He was so desperate for this- the comfort. He honestly would've taken it from almost anyone, but coming from his dad felt the best.

It reminded him that he had been right earlier, with Theo. He did still have people to fight for. He just needed to let them know.

He started with Lydia. She was the easiest, considering she couldn't run away from him.

He wished she could.

But instead she was lying, unresponsive and dead to the world, in the depths of Eichen House, one of the places Stiles hated most. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, Ms. Martin actually let him in without a big fuss. He was expecting to have to ramble until she got too annoyed or confused to continue her defense against him, but she actually looked a little…. Happy? No, not happy. Relieved, maybe, to see him there. Stiles wondered if any of the others had bothered to visit.

It was easy to apologize to Lydia for all that had happened to her and tell her that he was there for her, considering she probably couldn't hear, much less respond to him. And besides that, Stiles had gotten much better about telling her his genuine feelings in the last couple of years. It had been getting especially easier in the last year when he had realized that he didn't really love her- not like he thought he had at least. He still loved her, and probably always would, but not as a lover. He no longer held her on that high pedestal, which honestly wasn't fair to her in the first place, but regarded her as one of his best friends. And it killed him to see the price she paid for that friendship.

And not just theirs, but everyone's. Anyone who got remotely close to them, even if not through supernatural means, still got dragged into the endless battle against their will, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. He knew what it was like, to accidentally stumble upon this new world of fear and death that left you emotionally, and often physically, damaged. But there was nothing to be done for those of them already involved short of moving to the other side of the country, or out if it, like Derek and Braeden had. And even then, they had just left Beacon Hill's brand of crazy and dangerous for another. Everyone who had left them, and there were so many, had every right to. Isaac, Argent, Jackson, Cora, Ethan, Danny. They all left, yet Stiles had no doubt that they still were majorly affected every day. And the others who had left, against their own will… That list was even longer. Allison, Aiden, Boyd, Erica, Heather, the Hales, Mrs. Argent, Matt. The victims of Peter, of Kate, of Gerard, the kanima, the Alpha pack, the darach, the nogitsune, the assassins, and now Theo and the Dread Doctors. The collateral damage.

Donovan.

It was overwhelming- the death toll. And so many of those people had died for a war they didn't even know they were in. They didn't deserve it, and Stiles was so fucking sorry, _so deeply sorry_ , that anyone ever had to get hurt because of it.

But he had to remember that there were still people left. There were still people to fight for. He had the pack. His dad. Scott. And even if he didn't, he still had the rest of that god-forsaken town. No one else should die because of their problems; Stiles wouldn't let them.

Even if he had to die in their place.

Malia had been next on his list, and then Kira, but neither of them were anywhere he could find, nor were they responding to his messages. Liam and Mason were easy enough to track down the next day at school and, luckily, they agreed to talk with him without any hesitation. When he led them into the locker room to speak privately, they were immensely confused when the first thing to come out of his mouth was an apology.

"Wait," Mason had interrupted, "What exactly are you apologizing for?"

And Stiles… didn't really know.

"Uhm… I guess just… for not being around much lately? I'm not actually sure; I'm just sorry. But I have to ask, did Scott tell you what happened?"

Mason's eyes flickered over to Liam, who ducked his head to look at the ground, a shameful expression marring his young face. Now it was Stiles' turn to be confused.

"Actually, we haven't really talked to him in, like, a week. Why? What happened? Is everyone okay?" Mason's worried questions confused Stiles even more. They didn't know what had been going on? Why hadn't they been talking to Scott?

"Okay, time out. What's going on?" Stiles asked. "What the hell happened with you guys?"

Liam still hadn't looked up, so Mason let out a sigh and responded once again.

"We should probably sit down. It's sort of a long story."

A missed period and a few very enlightening tales later, and the three boys sat on the benches, still processing everything.

"So… You tried to kill Scott?"

"Yeah… And you killed Donovan?"

"Yeah… And Mason, you said Hayden died but isn't dead anymore?"

"Uhuh. And Theo tried to kill your dad, who's in the hospital?"

"Yeah. You guys said you found the Nemeton covered in bodies?"

"Yes. It was horrifying. So Scott kicked you out of the pack?"

"I don't know. Jury's still out on that one, I guess. Definitely sounds like he doesn't want me around, though."

There was another long pause before Mason muttered, " _Intense_." It broke a little of the tension that had settled over the three of them. Stiles laughed quietly, and only slightly hysterically. He was grateful for it; it helped clear his head a bit. They lapsed into another silence, this one only for a few moments before Mason cleared his throat and stood from the bench.

"Well, I've got to at least try to make it to next period. There's no way I can miss that Chemistry test." He looked weary to leave Liam, who had still not made any sort of eye contact with either of them for the entire conversation. Stiles waved him off, nodding towards Liam and wiggling a finger between the two of them.

Then the door was falling shut and it was down to only them. Stiles glanced over at the boy and saw himself. Saw Scott. Saw Isaac, Erica, Jackson, Allison, Boyd, Lydia. All of them had been new to this at some point. New and lost as so, so scared. Well, they were still scared - and lost as fuck, for that matter. But the point was, they were used to being scared and lost. And maybe Liam had been scared and lost before, but so had the rest of them; but this was a whole new league of scared and lost. A league that would kill you more likely than not, or at least damage you beyond repair. Stiles knew that he was never going to get over the nightmares that plagued him, partially because he knew he would never get a break from what was causing them. You couldn't just walk out of this life, and if you did, it was only physically. Never mentally.

He felt for the kid. And sure, he was only, like, two years Stiles' junior, but he seemed so much younger. Or maybe Stiles just felt older. He had sure as hell seen more than his fair share of maturing experiences- more than most people saw in a lifetime.

Maybe that's what possessed him to clasp his hand onto Liam's shoulder and drag him into a tight and only slightly uncomfortable hug. The boy didn't do anything at first, but gradually he seemed to accept that Stiles wasn't about to let go and buried his face in Stiles' shoulder. His body spasmed with sobs and Stiles could feel his tears seeping through his shirt. It tore at his heart, but he stayed strong and steady; he let Liam get it out. He had probably wanted to stay strong for Mason, who was by far the most new and vulnerable out of them all, but he needed to release it. Stiles knew how it felt all too well, the need to hide everything for another's sake. He'd been doing it all his life, after all. Liam, on the other hand, had used to release strong emotions, but the emotion had changed. It was no longer anger that had taken over, but fear. Uncertainty. And those things could drive someone to insanity if bottled up for long enough.

Eventually the tears subsided and Liam was leaning back away from Stiles, wiping his eyes and muttering apologies. Stiles just shoved him lightly and told him to shut up. It served the intended purpose, which was making Liam chuckle quietly.

"Sorry for almost killing your best friend."

"Nah, he's used to it… We all are. Sorry for getting you caught up in all of this. If it weren't for us, you wouldn't have to worry about these things; you'd be a normal kid, worrying about lacrosse and girls and grades. Instead you're running for your life every night, missing classes, worrying about control. You shouldn't have to deal with that."

Liam scoffed, surprising Stiles. "Yeah well, neither should you. And I was already skipping classes and losing control way before I moved here, so really the only change is the whole running from my life thing."

"I can definitely see that," Stiles threw back. "Although, the running for your life part is a pretty big part."

"Oh yeah, the biggest. But I'm dealing. Both of us are. Mason pretends like this whole thing is super cool and that it doesn't really affect him all that much, but it does. I've known the guy for years, I know his tells. He uses jokes and stuff to cover up how scared he is. Kind of reminds me of you, actually."

Stiles huffed and spluttered indignantly. "Uh pfft no way. I do not do that." Liam gave him a raised eyebrow. "Oh shut up, you little runt... But I get it. It's a lot to take in. Scott and I were sophomores when he got bit, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever, at first. Totally terrifying, but cool. He was like a superhero, you know? Then I almost had to saw someone's arm off and things got drastically less cool."

"Whose arm? Why?" Liam looked genuinely intrigued and only a little bit freaked out.

"Derek. He was shot with a wolfsbane bullet and the infection was spreading and I almost ran over him. Bad day. Eye-opening, but bad."

"Oh yeah," Liam said slowly. "I knew you guys had to have some history, with all the eye-talking down in Mexico. Well, that and the hardcore flirting."

Stiles gaped, quite unattractively.

"Um WHAT? What the _hell_ , Liam!?" Stiles exclaimed.

Standing, Liam stretched for a moment before walking to the door, grabbing his backpack on the way. As he opened the door to leave, he threw over his shoulder with a smirk, "Don't deny it, I saw how you looked at each other!"

Stiles was dumbfounded. He just decided to do what he did best: ignore it. At least the rest of the conversation had gone well.

Without Malia or Kira available, the only person left was Scott, much to Stiles' misfortune. He didn't feel ready to open that can of worms quite yet, and he was scared of the alpha's reaction if Stiles tried to force a conversation. That, and he wanted Scott to meet him halfway. How much was that to ask? How much was it to ask for his best friend to hear him out?

Apparently, fate decided to show him some mercy and make something easy, because Scott sought him out. Found him at the grocery store of all places.

Okay, maybe he's giving Scott a bit too much credit. Scott _ran into him_ at the grocery store, and actually looked pretty surprised to see him there. Which confused Stiles to no end because, one, Stiles has literally done all the shopping since he was sixteen and, two, Scott was still a werewolf, right? An alpha? So why didn't he smell him or something way before they bumped into each other?

Anyway, there they were, in the bread aisle, gaping at each other like idiots. Scott finally shut his mouth with an audible click, shaking himself a little.

"Uh… I think we need to… talk?"

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah, you think?"

Frowning at his old friend, looking somewhat put off and a bit more than a little irritated, Scott spat back, "Hey, don't act like you're innocent in any of this or anything, alright?"

Throwing his arm not holding the grocery basket in the air, Stiles yelled, "I never fucking did!"

An old lady down the aisle shot them an appalled glare. Scott said, evenly, "Maybe we should take this somewhere else. You wanna go back to yours?"

Stiles really didn't want to. "Fine. Just let me check out. Why are you even here, anyway? I know for a fact that your mom would never let you do the grocery shopping." The one time she had, Scott had brought home seven boxes of cereal and no milk, or anything else.

Scott frowned, looking pensive. "Deaton's been gone for a while now, and I can't get a hold of him. We were running low on cat food at the clinic."

Now that Stiles wasn't busy staring at Scott's face in angered shock, he looked down and saw Scott's own basket, full of cans of cat food, dangling from his fingers. And, actually, now that Stiles thought about it, he hadn't heard from Deaton in quite a while. The lack of mysterious paradoxes really stood out to him now, and he wondered how he missed it in the first place.

"Alright. Finish up and I'll meet you there in a bit."

Scott nodded, frown never leaving, and turned his back on Stiles, walking away.

It took Stiles quite a while to get home. He had to walk home with his few bags of groceries, and it almost wasn't even worth having his own food.

Okay, it totally was. Stiles never thought he would get tired of pizza and Chinese, but after two weeks of nothing but it (when he remembered to eat, that is) he could use a change. Now he could at least make sandwiches and ramen noodles.

Scott was at his door when he walked up the driveway, and looked as though he had been sitting there for a long time. Frowning when he looked up and saw Stiles, Scott said, "What the hell took you so long?"

And Stiles did not appreciate his attitude- not one bit. "Oh I'm so sorry, but not having a functioning car makes transportation a bit of a killer. Next time I'll skip the half-hour walk and just transportate home."

Scott's face screwed up into frustrated irritation, then to confusion. "Why is your car not functioning? What happened to it?"

"It broke down a week ago, I threw a wrench at it, and it got towed away. Now can you move so I can unlock the door and get this stuff inside?"

Scott still looked confused, but moved nonetheless. As Stiles was juggling his bags and his keys, he spoke up again.

"So why didn't your dad drive you? His car's here."

Stiles froze with the key halfway turned inside the lock. He slowly turned to look Scott in the eye, whether to see if he was joking or to see if he was concussed or whatever, Stiles didn't know. But Scott looked completely serious and still confused. Taking a few deep breaths, Stiles finished unlocking the door and burst inside, throwing the bags on the counter in the kitchen. Scott followed him, wrinkling his nose slightly, probably at the smell of all the artificially scented cleaning products.

"And why does this whole place reek of antibacterial wipes?"

Scott must've finally put those handy dandy werewolf senses to good use, because he looked at Stiles wearily, sensing the rage that was pouring off of him like a tsunami.

"Stiles…. What happened? Where's your dad?"

Stiles turned to Scott, his face an icy calm. "Maybe if you'd bothered to check up at all, you'd know that a week ago my dad almost died. He just barely survived and is still at the hospital."

The shock on Scott's face just made Stiles even more angry.

"Yeah, Scott, and you wanna know how he almost died? Why he almost died? Your little buddy Theo ripped him to shreds, left him abandoned. I almost didn't find him in time. So that's why he couldn't drive me to the _fucking_ store, because he's holed up in a _fucking_ hospital bed, trying to heal from wounds he never should've _fucking_ gotten! And this never would've fucking happened if you'd just listened to me! You should've just fucking _listened_ to me Scott! When have I ever betrayed you?! When have I ever lied to you?! Why didn't you just believe me?! Scott, I _needed_ you to believe me! How could you not have seen that? I needed you on my side, I needed you to trust me! But you didn't, and now my dad is paying the price, because you fucking trusted _him_ over _me!_ "

By the time Stiles was done, he was shaking all over. He had a headache and his fingers were trembling and he held onto the edge of the counter to try and still them. His knuckles turned white with the force and he was still trying to get his breathing under control, but not succeeding.

And Scott was still gaping at him, not saying anything.

"Just… just get out, Scott."

"But, Stiles-"

"NO! Just get out! Leave Scott! Walk away! I know you know how, so just do it!"

Scott looked overwhelmed by guilt and hurt and regret. He flinched as his best friend screamed at him to leave.

Eventually, he did.

Stiles went to bed. He wasn't hungry anymore.

Once again, Stiles barely slept. Two hours, at most; the rest was spent tossing and turning, replaying the evening behind his eyelids. Come morning, he forced himself out of bed, tried to shower away the severe sleep deprivation, and walked to school again.

Scott was there. Stiles avoided him.

Stiles was walking into AP Psych when he fainted.

He woke up later in the clinic with the nurse and Scott both by his side. Scott looked like shit and the nurse looked extremely concerned.

"Stiles," she started, "how are you feeling?"

Like death walking.

"Fine. What happened?"

"Dude, you fainted." Scott looked even more worried than the nurse, which surprised Stiles for some reason.

The nurse cut in, "Mr. Stilinski, when was the last time you ate?"

Stiles actually had to think about it for a minute. For every second he didn't give an answer, the nurse's eyebrows furrowed further. "Um… I may have forgotten to have breakfast or dinner for a few days, but I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'll just have something for lunch, no harm, right?"

"Young man, you'll have more than that. How much have you been sleeping?"

"Look, I get that this doesn't look good, but I swear, I'm okay."

The nurse sighed. "Stiles… I've known you for a few years. You've been in here more times than I can count, and I know when you're lying. I just want you to be okay, alright? Now, how much sleep have you been getting? Per night. And don't try to lie, young man, because I'll know."

Stiles looked down at his hands. It was true, he had been in to see the nurse so many times in the past few years, it was a shock he didn't even remember her name. He couldn't look her in the eye as he muttered, "A couple hours."

She and Scott both let out a sigh, and the nurse said, "An exact number, Stiles."

"About two."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to hesitantly meet her eyes. "Stiles, what's going on, honey? Why are you doing this to yourself?"

Sties stayed quiet for a moment, and then Scott spoke up for him.

"The sheriff's in the hospital. Stiles has been on his own for the past week."

At the nurse's gasp- Stiles really needed to figure out her name- he sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head in order to prepare for the impending conversation.

Unsurprisingly, the nurse's voice was much softer and more sympathetic as she gripped Stiles' shoulder tighter and said, "Oh, Stiles. I'm so sorry, dear. What happened? Is he going to be okay?"

"Yeah, he got taken off the machines keeping him alive a few days ago, 'cause he could finally breathe and eat on his own. It's hard for him to talk a whole lot, but he's managing pretty well. There was a, uh, an incident and he… He got hurt pretty bad. Really bad. It was pretty touch-and-go for a little while, but he's finally in the clear. Gets a bit better everyday. He oughta be out in another two weeks, they said, but it just depends on his improvement." Stiles hadn't really talked to anyone about his dad's condition, and it felt good to finally let someone know.

"Dear Lord. Well, next time you see him, tell him Rhonda Lee is thinking of him, okay?" She takes Stiles' nod as answer enough, and then asks him, "Now, Stiles. How are you feeling? What do you need, besides a good meal and some sleep?"

"Nothing, I'll be okay."

She sighed again, Stiles' natural effect on people, and rubbed her hand up and down his arm. Then she looked to Scott. "Mr. McCall, why doesn't Mr. Stilinski stay with you for the time being? If I remember correctly, you two are quite good friends?"

Both boys looked down, avoiding each other's glances.

"Yeah," Scott almost whispered, "He can stay with us. I'll just go call my mom real quick." And with that Scott was out of the room, phone gripped tight in his hand.

The nurse, Rhonda, looked after him with slight confusion. "You guys gonna be okay staying together?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. And, uh.. Thanks. For, you know, uh.. For-"

"It's okay, Stiles, I understand. You're welcome. But I need you to try and take better care of yourself, alright? At least eight hours of sleep a night and a healthy breakfast,lunch, and dinner. Every day. I'll follow up with Melissa to make sure you are, got it Mister?"

Stiles smiled, chuckling lightly but genuinely. "Yeah, I get it. I'll be better, promise."

Scott was waiting outside the door, leaning back against the wall. His phone was pressed up against his ear and his hand was splayed over his face, covering his eyes. Even without super werewolf hearing, Stiles could clearly hear Melissa giving her son a pretty intense verbal lashing, which made Stiles smirk petulantly for a second. He felt a bit childish for it, but it was better than feeling guilty.

"Yeah- _yes_ , okay Mom... I know, I know... I'm sorry, I didn't know-... _yeah_ but-... okay... I get it, I'll try to fix it... Yes, I promise. I'm gonna bring him home now, if that's okay. Alright, see you in a few hours... Love you, too. Bye, Mom." Scott hung up and let his hand drop to his side, the other staying firmly planted on his face. As if he could sense Stiles' amusement, which he probably could, Scott said lightly, "Yeah, yeah, just wait 'til she gets home. Then you can really laugh. God, it's gonna suck." Stiles actually had to hold back an actual bubble of laughter that was threatening to burst from his throat at that. Scott dropped his hand and looked at his face, his smile, and appeared shocked by the presence of it. Honestly, Stiles was shocked at it, too, but it felt good, so he didn't really care that much. Slowly, a timid smile crept over Scott's mouth, too. Then he was holding back a chuckle, which set Stiles off again. They seemed to be playing off of each other's amusement, because not long later, they were both laughing. Hard. And for no fucking reason. It was awesome.

Stiles had missed it.

They still had a lot to talk about, but for now, they could have this.

That afternoon, they talked about everything over a nice meal of tacos before Melissa got home from her shift. Apparently, she hadn't told Scott about the sheriff because she had assumed that Stiles already had. Scott mentioned that they hadn't been at home at the same time very much lately and consequently hadn't been talking as much. Scott apologized, explained his actions and thoughts- which were still stupid and misguided- and then apologized some more. Stiles was still pissed, but he forgave him. They were brothers, after all, and they had to stick together. They couldn't get through this without each other. They couldn't survive without each other.

"So what now?" asked Scott.

Stiles thought about everything for a moment, then replied.

"Now, we get everyone back together. First, you and Liam need to talk. Then we get Kira and Malia. Then, we work together and get Lydia the hell out of Eichen House.

He had made a promise to not let anyone else die because of their war. He intended to keep it.


End file.
